She ran the tap and swished the water around the now clean sink. She rinsed the cloth under the tap, then wrung it with a strong twist of her hands to squeeze out the water. Bloody Alastair, she thought, giving the cloth another savage twist. Bloody Orla too.
After all these years it surprised her that buried deep within her, there was still a small raw spot that had never quite healed. It shouldn’t bother her, not after all this time, but it did. The painful truth was, Alastair had hurt her badly – not once, but twice – and his blithe declaration, coming so out of the blue, that he’d fallen madly in love resurrected myriad memories and bitter resentments.
Last night they’d heard from Alastair that Valentina had booked her flight tickets and would definitely be joining them at Linston End. At the thought of this, Sorrel ripped off her rubber gloves.How does it feel, Orla, she silently taunted with a flash of malicious satisfaction,to know that you’ve been replaced so quickly?Now you know what I went through.
A better person would have felt guilty for gloating over Orla’s swift replacement, but Sorrel knew, and without a trace of shame, that she wasn’t that better person. Just as she knew that there was very little chance of her liking the new woman in Alastair’s life, any more than the old one.
There again, she thought, a slow smile coming to her lips, how better to pay Orla back than to take an enormous liking to Valentina? ‘The game’s not over yet, Orla,’ she murmured. ‘Not by a long way.’
‘You know the first sign of madness is talking to yourself, don’t you?’
She spun round at the sound of Simon’s voice. ‘For heaven’s sake, do you have to creep up on me like that? You gave me quite a start.’
‘Hardly creeping,’ he said, ‘more like blundering around in the manner of an elephant.’
He went over to the table and plonked a large dusty cardboard box on it. He looked pleased with himself. ‘So what were you muttering to yourself about?’ he asked. ‘Have I done something wrong, which I should know about?’
Relieved he hadn’t heard what she’d said, she shook her head. ‘You’re off the hook. What’s in the box?’
With a theatrical flourish of his hands, as if he were a magician about to pull a rabbit from a hat, he said, ‘I bring you the past!’
‘Meaning?’
‘I’ve been rootling around in the loft and unearthed a collection of old photos and videos. I can’t think how they ended up there in the first place.’
Sorrel could. She had hidden the box in the loft not long after moving here twenty years ago, wanting to be rid of certain memories, but not having the courage to throw away the contents of the box.
‘I thought I’d sort through it all, then scan a selection to put onto a disc for when we go to stay with Alastair. We can then all enjoy a trip down memory lane.’
‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’
‘Why ever not? It’ll make for great entertainment seeing how we’ve all changed; the kids will love making fun of us with our dreadful clothes and hair from way back when.’
‘What about Valentina?’
‘What about her?’
‘You don’t think she’ll be bored to tears if she’s forced to look at a lot of old photographs of people she doesn’t know?’
A resolute look came into Simon’s eyes. ‘What better way for her to realise how important Alastair’s friends are to him, and what a crucial part of his life we are?’
Oh, Simon, thought Sorrel, with genuine sadness for him. You’re going to have to let Alastair go, as painful as it will be.
Chapter Twenty
An auction date for the sale of the Punch and Judy donation had still to be decided, and the longer it took up residence in her office, the more attached Jenna felt to it. She would miss it when it was eventually taken away to be sold. She found its brightly coloured presence a cheerful sight in her office. It made her think of happy children on a beach, of melting ice cream in the sunshine, of unfettered laughter while Mr Punch went about his slapstick business. It was a reminder of day trips to Cromer beach with Rachel and Callum while staying at Linston End, when the summer holidays stretched endlessly before them and time seemed to stand still.
She had placed her favourite pair of puppets on the shelf opposite her desk – a slightly damaged Mr Punch (his chin was chipped and an ear was missing, giving him a slightly less malevolent appearance) and Judy, his long-suffering wife next to him. Looking at the puppets, Jenna thought how universally true it was that children of all ages enjoyed the sight of somebody being hit or told off. Was it simply a case of schadenfreude, of being grateful for not being in the firing line themselves? Or was it more invidious, a desire to be the one with the big stick in their hands to do the hitting? Were they all bullies at heart with a secret desire to clout somebody over the head and not have to pay the consequences?
If Jenna could be granted that wish, she would happily take a stick to the ghastly woman who had made those fictitious claims against her father.
But Suzie Wu was not the only person to whom Jenna could happily take a big stick. Blake Darnell had easily earned himself a whack, as had Rachel for stirring the pot so enthusiastically. In reality, the person who deserved the biggest whack of all was herself. She had played a stupid game and now it had backfired on her in spectacular fashion.
At the restaurant last night, after Blake had finally left them – Jenna having lied through her teeth about some new man in her life – Rachel had turned Gestapo interrogator. She had demanded to know exactly who the secret boyfriend was and Jenna had blurted out the truth, unable to face the unappealing choice of telling yet more lies.
Rachel had been incredulous. ‘You mean you used my brother to make it look like you had a boyfriend? What the hell were you thinking?’
‘I wasn’t thinking,’ Jenna had replied, ‘that was the trouble, it was a knee-jerk reaction to get Blake off my case.’
